


Middle-earth Poetry Collection

by Stultiloquentia



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas Music, First Age, Multi, Poetry, Sestina, Sonnets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-13
Updated: 2003-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stultiloquentia/pseuds/Stultiloquentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret griefs, squabbling cousins, emo!Denethor, romantic!Aragorn, and some Christmas tunes about bad executive decisions and incineration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salt Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Círdan's hair turned grey.

In the North he lifted his voice  
And the rill danced all the way to Belegaer.  
I heard it, too, for Ulmo took to his theme  
(The charmer no less charmed, I think)  
And rumbled it back to me; and the waves,  
Who have a sense of humour at times,  
Played the continuo.

I dove from the crosstrees to hear it better.  
There, in the cool shadow beneath the keel,  
I dreamt his face, the prophetling, for the first.  
He seemed strong and fair, but my heart quailed.  
Can the veins of a Man bear so much salt?  
The vision darted away and I saw only blue water  
And the cloud of my hair, cuttlefish black.

He went to the mountains and I back to my ships:  
The melting snows told me of laughter in Gondolin.  
I laughed, too, and fostered laughter.  
Later, the rivers ran with tears and ash.  
When the willows bent their boughs in sadness  
And the flaglilies let their petals fall,  
He returned to the sea, leading his city's children.

I clasped his wrist and kissed him,  
Kissed his golden wife with the starfish eyes,  
Took them to me, bid them cleanse their hurts and  
Ease their sorrows. But he, god-beloved and scarred,  
Would stand at the feet of Uilos ere he died.  
But too long he tarried, and then fever came,  
Fierce as Ossë, and I saw how it would be.

And so, I clasped his wrist once more.  
Two currents may meet, each baffling the other,  
But the same ocean rules us all.  
We were long since brothers, he and I, servants  
Of the subversive god. Not even Ulmo dreamt of this.  
His spirit pounded through me, wordless, shocked,  
But my prayers, storm-soaring gulls, winged high above.

Sea-Wing sailed; he perched on the crosstrees,  
She a fury of love at the stern. I stood long  
On the strand and watched the tides. I sang of heart's uplifting  
And the waves obligingly played the continuo.  
Who can prophesy the tides of that inland sea, the heart?  
Who dares sing of the salt-glittered sand?  
I know not the final verse. I need not ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Notes are here](http://stultiloquentia.dreamwidth.org/27641.html).


	2. Fëanor Challenged

For craft of hand thou carest not -  
Jewels fine cut, metals wrought.  
My skill renowned: worth naught  
To thine appraising eyes, cool thought.

"A hair!" thou laughest, mocking-wise.  
"The growing thing, source-severed, dies!  
I am no stone in maiden guise  
To shape and set and keep and prize.

"Sooner bid the stars to set  
Or capture Treelight in a net  
And put it in an amulet  
Than bid me my despite forget."

Fair Pride, how mightst thou change thy song  
If I, by art and labour long,  
With nets no less than fire and tong,  
Should bend my skill  
                    to prove thee wrong?


	3. Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn waits.

There's freedom in a measured line of verse  
For n'er do wit and wild imagination run  
So far as 'neath the reins of rhyme and meter  
Nor traverse such rich-hued inward fields  
In search of one small word, the sound of which  
exactly yields heart's truth, and makes it sing.  
Thus is love. --And duty, done in love,  
For two are one. Duty's bonds bite deep  
Yet n'er would I my bondage from me cast,  
For freedom, thusly sought, would die.  
While I my people keep, my love keeps me.  
And so, held doubly fast, my spirit takes to wing  
My heartbeat bravely measures time  
And all my mirth spills over into rhyme.


	4. In Denethor's Locked Cupboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to the HASA challenge positing that Denethor had a sheaf of really dismal poetry stuffed into a cupboard somewhere. Poem #1 is a sestina, one of many complicated and bizarre forms invented by the French troubadour Arnaut Daniel. It's supposed to have six and a half verses, and only six ending words, repeated in a precise order (a b c d e f --&gt; f a e b d c) from verse to verse. Every line has ten or eleven syllables except for the first of each verse, which has seven.
> 
> It seemed appropriate for such a twisted individual as Denethor.

And the steward to his holding  
Shall be as a steadfast tower of stone  
That stands earthbound yet sees and knows the stars:  
Reason his guide, not passion's clutching fist,  
Casting out vain desires, imagined need,  
Lest his work fail and long planning ravel.

Why, then, does my strength ravel  
Under the knowing of one gaze holding  
Mine? What's this impossible ache of need  
I cannot voice? My throat is made of stone.  
These eyes unman me as though they were fists.  
No comfort the echoing glitter of the stars.

The cool pity of the stars  
(The old songs praise) that tangled thoughts ravel  
Does but mock my short breath and clenchéd fist.  
Wherefore this - now - thus - me captive holding  
When on me rests the fate of Gondor's stone?  
I'll country keep - and to myself my need.

***

The drowning lacework  
Of the mountain stream in spring  
Remembers her tears


	5. O Little Town of Barad-dûr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas carol for Sauron.

O little town of Barad-dûr, how still we see thee lie!  
Above thy deep relentless reek keeps watch the Lidless Eye:  
And in thy dark streets hangeth the everlasting gloom  
Of smoke and smog and foul black fog that belcheth from Mount Doom.

Sauron's mood is rancid; and, gathered in the air  
While mortals sleep, the Nazgûl keep their watch of bleak despair.  
Neglect of things diminutive has fouled his cunning plan  
For Mordor's king has lost his ring, and Gollum up and ran.

How silently, how slinkily, the hobbitses creep through!  
And meanwhile back in Rohan stupid Sharkey missed his cue.  
Then a hero bursts from nowhere with a name that makes him quake,  
With reforged swords and swarming hordes of dead dudes in his wake.

O mighty Lord of Barad-dûr, though fearsome be your power  
Pack up your bags and leave your crags, and mortgage off your tower!  
For changeful winds are whisp'ring o'er your mountains high and drear  
Beware! They'll sing your downfall ere the turning of the year.


	6. Un flambeau, ma bonne sentinelle!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas carol for Denethor.

Un flambeau, ma bonne sentinelle,  
Un flambeau, courons au tombeau!  
C'est la fin, bonne gens du château,  
Je suis fou, mon fils appelle,  
Ah! ah! que ma pierre est belle,  
Ah! ah! ah! que les flammes sont chaudes!

_Or,_

Bring a torch, my good sentinel! Oh,   
Bring a torch, to the sepulchre run!  
The end is nigh, good folk of the tower;  
I've run mad, my son is calling:  
Ah! ah! Beautiful is my bauble!  
Ah! ah! Cook us all 'til we're done!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Dwim, for polishing my rusty French.


End file.
